


read to me

by AAAtlas247



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Couch Cuddles, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is soft and cuddly and I will die on this damn hill, Crowley is soft okay, Cuddling, Domestic Fluff, Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Fluff without Plot, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kissing, M/M, One Shot, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Canon, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, even David said he's cuddly, look with all the chaos right now, sfw, sometimes you just need to write something wholesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:00:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23371321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AAAtlas247/pseuds/AAAtlas247
Summary: Safety. Crowley was beginning to think that was a feeling he could get used to. You couldn’t find that in heaven these days and certainly not in hell.To him, safety only really existed, here, in this shop, with this angel.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 138





	read to me

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! So Good Omens took over my life several months ago and shows no signs of stopping. This is my first serious foray back into fanfiction in a long time, so I hope you like it! In my head, I’d set this a few months after the trials, but it can really be at any point.
> 
> Also, if you like, you can go follow me on Tumblr @ a-little-too-extra for more GOmens content!
> 
> Edit: I've made a bunch of little changes that I noticed since posting this yesterday, and I hope it reads a little better now! Ya girl is out here trying her best.

It was just after midnight when Crowley began to feel his eyelids growing heavy, his phone screen blurring in front of him. He didn’t technically _need_ sleep, but do anything often enough and it becomes a habit. It was nice, too—very peaceful. No wonder humans liked it so much.

And, even better, the best pillow in the world was sitting right beside him, his nose buried in a book.

Aziraphale looked up as Crowley shifted closer, placing his sunglasses on the coffee table and resting his cheek on the angel’s shoulder. Even without looking, he could practically feel the smile growing on Aziraphale’s face.

“Hello, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured. He turned a page.

“Hi,” Crowley said. And—yes, he’d been right. He could hear the smile in the angel’s voice, as fond and gentle as ever.

It was a shame he couldn’t see it from this angle.

Crowley pursed his lips before making up his mind. With a kind of maneuver one could only perform if they, too, were a loose-limbed demonic entity, Crowley rapidly switched his position, shifting until he sat squarely in the angel’s lap, his legs stretching along the length of the sofa. 

(Here he was, possessing an angel’s lap and distracting him from his book. It was a very demonic thing to do, really. Quite evil.) 

Aziraphale gazed up at him with that same fondness, now mixed with amused exasperation. ”I was _reading,_ ” he pointed out, holding up in one hand his signed copy of _Sense and Sensibility_.

“So?”

“ _So_ , you’re sitting right where my book was.”

“And?” Crowley prompted, drawing out the word with a smirk.

“And—oh dear Lord. You’re insufferable.” There was no bite to the words. If anything, the angel’s mouth was still holding that lovely small smile.

Crowley laughed, enjoying the soft, intoxicating strength of Aziraphale’s thighs beneath him, supporting his weight. “Eh, but you love that,” he pointed out.

Aziraphale's mouth twitched, one corner going up the way it always did when he was trying not to laugh. “Yes, I rather suppose I do.” 

They reached for each other at the same time, Crowley wrapping his arms around the angel’s neck as Aziraphale wrapped one strong arm around his back and the other across his hips, pulling him closer. He cradled the demon close to his chest as he pressed his lips to Crowley’s forehead. It was the kind of kiss that always made his stomach start doing backflips around the room, and they both knew it. “And I love _you_ ,” he said, his lips brushing the shell of Crowley’s ear before pulling away ever so slightly, still hovering so close that their noses brushed.

Crowley sat there for a moment, his body almost limp in the angel’s arms, feeling vaguely star-struck. His head was swimming in the endless tide of Aziraphale—the feeling of his body above and beneath him; the light in his blue eyes; the smile-smirk on his face; the low murmur of his voice. “I love you, too,” he whispered. Aziraphale’s eyes glowed—oh, he’d always thought he could lose himself in those eyes if he looked long enough.

Aziraphale leaned in again, this time pressing their lips together, their mouths and tongues intertwining in a dance that only they knew. _I love you,_ Crowley thought dizzily. _Bloody hell, I love you._

Several long, bliss-soaked moments passed before they slowly separated, their lips swollen and faces flushed. Crowley remained in the angel’s lap, dazed. He pulled his legs in closer to him, and let his head rest against Aziraphale, in the junction between neck and shoulder. And he finally allowed his eyes to flutter shut, knowing he was safe here.

 _Safety_. Crowley was beginning to think that was a feeling he could get used to. You couldn’t find that in heaven these days and certainly not in hell. To him, safety only really existed, here, in this shop, with this angel.

Aziraphale, meanwhile, was shifting. Crowley opened one eye, realizing that the angel was leaning over slightly to pull his book back from where he'd cast it aside, the arm that was still around Crowley going slack.

He tried to mask his disappointment at the loss of contact. "I can bugger off, if you want." 

Aziraphale's hold strengthened again, and he smiled innocently and shook his head. "Oh, no, my dear. You're not going anywhere—"

"Oh, bossy, are we? That's hot—"

"—Just be a dear and don't squirm around too much. I'm at a particularly riveting part of my book."

Crowley pulled back to look at him, incredulously raising an eyebrow. “ _Riveting?_ ” he echoed. "For hell's sake, angel, you've probably read that bloody thing a thousand times by now." 

"It's a good book!"

"Says _who_?"

"Says _me!_ "

Crowley just grunted, giving up the argument in favor of resting his head back against the angel's chest. "If you say so."

"Well, I do." Aziraphale somehow managed to pull him even closer, his arms a warm, heavy, delightful pressure that the demon could never get enough of, even if they stayed like this for the next millennia. 

"I met her, you know," Aziraphale continued softly. 

"Who?"

"Ms. Austen! Seemed a very bright young woman."

"So she was." Crowley let out a puff of air. "Fine. You can read, I won't bug you." _Too much, anyway._ "On one condition, that is.”

“Yes?”

“Read to me, angel?” The words were almost lost in the soft skin of Aziraphale's neck. The low, casual tone of Crowley's voice only half-masked the anxious vulnerability disguised within the words, and they both knew it. But Crowley didn't particularly care, just then—he was far too drowsy. And, somehow, suddenly, just a little bit unusually shy. 

It was true that he wasn't exactly literature's number one fan, but he suddenly wanted to hear Aziraphale’s voice. He wanted to feel it reverberate in his chest and seep through the angel’s lungs into his. (You know, all of that romantic nonsense).

There was a pause. And then: “Yes, of course, my love.” It came out as a whisper, barely audible.

“Thanks.” Bit by bit, Crowley allowed his body to relax, slowly melting against Aziraphale until it was difficult to tell where one of them ended and the other began. He could feel the steady drumbeat of the angel’s heart, just beneath his cheek. He focused on it, memorizing its rhythm and the small thrill it gave him.

He was safe here.

Aziraphale returned his gaze to his book and cleared his throat. “Ah, here we go. Now…” his voice lowered, becoming more serious, more schooled. Crowley shifted, pressing his cheek deeper into Aziraphale’s paper-and-ink scented clothes and closing his eyes as the angel began to read.

“ _I’ve come here with no exceptions_ ,” he murmured. “ _Only to profess, now that I am at liberty to do so, that my heart is, and always will be, yours..._ ” He continued on, his voice an even, steady lifeline that guided Crowley out into the sea of calmness and sleepy, wonderful warmth. Aziraphale’s voice slowly faded into the background, a blurred, masterful symphony. 

He had the kind of voice that was born to tell stories, and Crowley would be more than happy to listen to every single one until the end of time, if Aziraphale would have him.

(He would).

As the moon drifted across the sky, Crowley gradually let himself doze off, Aziraphale’s melodic voice filling the air. As his mind sank further into the depths of unconsciousness, drifting towards dreams, he could have sworn he heard the angel whisper, “Good night, Crowley. Dream about whatever you like best, love.”

A demon could get used to this, Crowley mused. That was the last conscious thought he remembered having before he slipped away, leaving the waking world behind and moving toward a blur of deep, hazy, soothing sleep.

And he dreamed of Aziraphale that night.

***

Had anyone been passing by the old bookshop on the street corner that night, carrying a heavy heart and weighted steps, they would have felt something strange: a sudden, overwhelming peace. 

It was the bone-deep certainty that everything was going to be all right. It was the knowledge that there was, and always would be, love in the world. There was the future and there was the past, with humanity all mixed up in between. Mixed up, but marching forward. Always, always forward. All the rest would follow and fall into place exactly the way it was meant to. 

Everything was going to be all right.

Some would carry on their way without stopping, a skip in their step that hadn't been there before. They would have no idea why, but it was a good feeling that they didn't want to question. But perhaps others would pause, right by the shop, and look at it curiously for some reason they couldn't begin to explain.

And then they, too, would go on their way, feeling just a little safer than they had before.


End file.
